


Hurricane heart

by WendigoBaby



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Affection, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Stressful days made better by certain tall boyfriends, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, taking care of each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 15:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10516659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendigoBaby/pseuds/WendigoBaby
Summary: It’s the small things that speak of love.And some days are just worse than others.





	

Magnus’ sunlit Friday makes his heart feel like a hurricane. It begins early with a call tearing him out of sleep about a warlock child falling unexplainably ill and a rushed home visit, a mother’s grief and fiery assurances that _it’s going to be okay, don’t cry please, he’s still here for you to love._

 

A slew of clients next – the next one more late and even more fussy and demanding than the last one, all _Magnus do this and that and dance as I tell unless I won’t pay._ Not that Magnus necessarily needs the money, he’d be fine without it, but it’s about something more than that, payment for services rendered, an act of assistance, two people respecting each other; all because he wants to do something to help the world. 

 

The smile surrounded by his goatee is a fake one, all business-like, stretched thin like a guitar string waiting to snap, a dare and a warning all at once, a _do not push me too far._

 

Hours tick by like sand slipping through fingers, quick and fleeting and the warm sun turns into a gloomy, unpleasant evening. There’s thunder angrily stomping around outside the loft windows and the usually welcome pitter-patter of rain is now grating on Magnus’ nerves. The same goes for the ticking of his ancient and probably priceless Grandfather clock a room over. It’s the rhythmic nature of it that makes it feel like a presence hanging over his shoulder and quietly judging his handiwork.

 

Magnus prides himself on making his loft feel as homely as possible, a haven, an oasis for any kind of person, especially himself, but today it’s cold and hollowed out. He almost expects an echo to answer his sigh. The light is either too dark or too bright, his table too low, his clutter too present, each thing pushing into Magnus’ peripheral vision, unwanted thoughts like guests extending their stay for the third time.

 

His back hurts from sitting hunched over his living room table while he works away on a potion with a deadline for yesterday. His eyes are tired from translating fae manuscripts and reading the fine print on summoning contracts, there’s a stress headache budding right behind the front of his skull and everybody wants something, right here, right _**now.**_

 

_Magnus help me talk to this demon!_

_Magnus make me a potion to forget my lost lover!_

_Magnus do this and do that and don’t even expect a thank you, because why would that be necessary!_

 

He’s tired. He’s so, so tired and he hates the claws of exhaustion, both mental and physical, prickling at his skin. Usually, a day like this is something he handles fine, but he woke up off-kilter, like a boat tilted sideways until it finally sinks. Magnus feels like Titanic already split in half.

 

He grits his teeth, even when he knows he shouldn’t, the muscle in his jaw jumping without his control, waits for the potion to turn from yellow to a light blue after the last ingredient is in. When it doesn’t, it’s the literal last drop that makes the cup of his frustration run over. His anger is ice-cold and menacingly quiet, it burns him from inside-out.

 

Magic stretches his veins, swelling alongside Magnus’ annoyance until it bubbles up in his throat as a growl. He stands abruptly from the couch and the furniture shudders, an earthquake in the form of a person making it jump. Orange and red sparks drip from the tips of Magnus’ fingers, falling onto the carpet to leave little scorched dots behind.  
All of the books stacked by the side fly and smash against the wall with a deafening thud and some of the pages tear free, now falling like leaves and Magnus just stands, breathing heavy with fists clenched and the last thing before the lights overhead flicker is the sound of a door opening and combat-boot clad footsteps rushing against the carpets.

 

Magnus was so caught up in everything that he didn’t notice the tremor in his wards indicating a guest, but with only certain people allowed in, it’s easy to guess the tall figure halting their steps with an arm halfway to a Seraph blade and a strange kind of grace.

 

Alec hangs on to the doorjamb with his hands, clearly expecting enemies, but seeing only Magnus in the middle of a mess. His face shifts from wariness to confusion and then melts into vague understanding as he takes everything in. Magnus watches his lips part around nonexistent words, before he squints, one-eyed and inquisitive.

 

“I wanted to see you, but it seems like a bad time…” He explains, but instead of leaving, approaches Magnus, eyes searching and hands reaching up to rest on broad shoulders. A simple touch is enough to pull the cork on the overflowing bathtub and Magnus’ rigid posture falls, fingers unclench, he breathes.

“No, no, it’s just-“ Magnus just shakes his head, the simple motion making his headache twice as difficult.

 

“Bad day?” A crooked little smile shows up on Alec’s mouth, Magnus’ personal favourite. A wry thing, not oblivious, but very familiar with the feeling of the dam breaking.

 

“Very bad day.” He agrees and sighs deeply from the bottom of his chest, before wrapping his arms loosely around Alec’s waist. There’s that familiar, faint scent of a leather and a cologne he could recognize in miliseconds.

 

“Wanna talk about it?” It’s a sweet thing to ask, very Alec-like, honest in its attentiveness, and this time it’s Magnus’ turn to smile, a private thing, there and gone. He shakes his head again. He doesn’t want to worry Alec, but they promised to be open and upfront about their troubles, so in the end, he complies.

 

“Not now, later perhaps.”

 

Warm fingers move up his neck, eight digits pressed into his spine and thumbs at the hinges of his jaw.

 

“It’s like you’re actively trying to grind your teeth into dust.” A lilt of laughter colors Alec’s voice as he works away at the pain in small circles and after the moment it feels a little bit better already. Magnus closes his eyes and focuses his attention on the heavy weight of Alec’s gaze on him, the proximity of his body, the warmth radiating through a thin shirt into his fingertips. 

 

He imagines a calm ocean, waves spilling playfully over each other and his magic settles – fills his chest and spills into his abdomen, unbridled energy willing to settle down when kindly asked.

That’s the funny thing – Magnus’ magic is such an intrinsic part of his soul and his sole existence that it sometimes feels like it has a mind of its own. He notices it always wakes up at the slightest touch of Alec’s fingers, whether it’s them skimming the top of his palm in passing or a deep embrace where they press into skin and muscle. It sings in his heart, happy just as he is with the love of his life.

 

They stand there for a while, Alec massaging all the knotted and tense muscles he can reach without breaking away and Magnus just enjoying the attention, the feeling of loneliness dissipating after the whole day spent around people. When Alec speaks again, voice a tad bit hoarse and even more pleasant, Magnus tugs him closer, presses their bodies against each other until they feel like one. Those long, spindly fingers move from his neck to his hair, scratch along the shaved sides and brush through the strands standing straight up, before dancing across his face – soft touches along his browbones, following the slope of his nose and dipping into the shape of his Cupid’s bow to rest against the corners of his mouth.

 

“I don’t know if you know him, but there’s this guy that I’m dating, yeah? He’s tall, buff as hell, and gives great advice. He told me once to step back from work and just breathe every now and again. Find a new perspective. Maybe you should listen to him.”

 

Magnus smiles again and this time the smile sticks, not a bomb about to go off but a fireplace with the flames crackling like a song. This Alec is one of his favourites, chocolate with a sprinkle of pepper – playful and caring and casual with a side of flirty, leaning his body against Magnus, arms resting on his shoulders and hands clasped where he can’t see them.

 

Magnus remembers that it’s his turn to say something.

 

“I don’t recognize him, but it sounds like you really like him.”

 

“Oh, I love him, actually. And that’s why I think he should take a five minute break from this, whatever this is.” Alec says, punctuating the last part of his sentence with a jut of his chin towards the bubbling glass on the table and a flurry of papers on the ground.

 

A break it is, then.

 

Arms wrapped around bodies, knees knocking together, they stand in an embrace. It’s honestly all Magnus wants right now, as he presses his forehead against Alec’s rain-damp skin, feels a breath skim across his lips and something hums in his chest. He’s content to stay like this for a hundred and one years, because this kind of tenderness is a step away from painful.

 

It did not come easy for them; months ago, there was resentment and guilt and the sentiment of impossibility. But then, a touch of hands and the world turned upside down. And they’re still here with their own private gravity; the moon and the stars could be sold and the sun could burn out and Magnus would pick a quiet offer of getting takeout and watching something light-hearted over any gemstone or treasure.

 

Clients want and his people need and Shadowhunters demand, but it doesn’t matter. Because he has Alec too. Alec, who comes to see him, because there’s an empty space behind his ribs and because there’s a mouth he wants to kiss into the deep darkness of the night and there’s books to be read side by side and songs to be danced to and skin to be touched. Because there’s no hidden motive.

 

They part with a mutual sigh and while Alec reaches for his phone to order food, Magnus snaps his fingers – the mess disappears, at least for a while until he has to deal with it, but for now the hurricane is calm.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr under 'maghnvsbane' <3  
> All kudos and comments are deeply appreciated!


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